Flower Magazine

MAY-JUN 2018

Browse "flower" to learn techniques from established and up-and-coming designers, be inspired by the floral decor of weddings, galas, and flower and garden shows, and infuse your lifestyle with chic floral fashion and home decor.

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NE OF MY FAVORITE aspects of this job is traveling to new cities to speak at events and meet new people. The only drawback is that I'm usually only in town for a day and a night, a sort of "who was that masked man" kind of effect. I get my feet wet and start to be captivated by the wonderful people and places, deliver my presentation, and then am off to the airport. But not this time . . . I was already speaking at an Art in Bloom event in a large Midwestern city when I received a last-minute invitation to speak at a garden club, a few hours' drive away. What the heck, let's do it, I thought. Let's Flower the Midwest. I'll stay an extra night, hear Martha Stewart on Saturday, and drive to the next gig Sunday morning. This is perfect! Fast-forward to Friday night after a successful presenta- tion. I was at a lovely country club surrounded by the chairs of the show and other museum patrons when my handler beckoned me into the hall. This could have been either really good or really bad or, as it was in this case, a bit of both. The bad news was that Ms. Stewart was snowed in, stuck in Philly, and would be unable to get out in time to make the luncheon and presentation the next day. So, would I consider speaking again on Saturday in her place? I'm not sure exactly what happened next, as I was in a daze of surreal incredulity, hardly able to put words together to respond (which did not bode well for my prospective performance in loco Martha!). I just remember the waitstaff continuing their duties, diners eating and drinking and chatting and laughing, and music streaming along as if nothing had happened. When, actually, the earth had shifted on its axis. Or that's what it felt like to me. I remember being asked if I had a different PowerPoint presentation with me, as surely many of the same folks would be in the audience. I responded with something along the lines of, "Yeah, yeah, I, maybe, think so. Let me check on my phone—I mean my laptop—when I go back to the hotel. Can someone take me back to the hotel?" My O 86 | M AY/J U N E 2 0 1 8 NOT SO PRIM ROSE Illustration by CLAIRE CORMANY handler gave me a glass of water and escorted me back to the dinner table. "Let's keep this to ourselves until the end of dinner," she whispered conspiratorially. So that was fun. After dessert was served, she nodded to me and then lowered the boom. Everyone was lovely, and no one seemed disappointed at all. After they spent a good 10 minutes thanking me for stepping into the breach, I clinked my glass and asked if we could just acknowledge that we were disappointed and that there would be more of the same on the morrow. Graciously, they did. And then it was over, and we laughed at the vicissitudes of Mother Nature, and I went back to my hotel to search for my other presentation. The good news was, I had it. I studied it and surprisingly slept like a log. I think I was in denial. The next day dawned beautifully and the luncheon in Martha's honor was exquisite. Though I felt a bit awkward and self-conscious, the guests, including the director of the museum, all seemed genuinely grateful and looking forward to my second act. Next, I was led to the green room once again, picked up the same brand of bottled water, used the same mirror to freshen my makeup, and sat down in the same red side chair as the day before. I walked behind the same curtain in the dark and heard pretty much the same introduction as the day before. I took the stage to meet the crowd of good sports who had already been apprised that the star was unable to go on but that the understudy was willing and able. After thanking everyone and describing how much I had enjoyed presenting earlier, I asked if anyone remembered the movie Groundhog Day. I think I got my biggest laugh and best response of the whole show with that and was later told I might consider a career in stand-up comedy if publishing didn't pan out. back by "popular demand" Rose Bush, our irreverent editor, finds herself

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